


I'm Sorry, Leon

by PolarGrizz47



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one regret in Lionel’s life that could have been fixed was Leon Tao.<br/>And he realizes this that last time he sees Leon alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sorry, Leon

The one regret in Lionel’s life that could have been fixed was Leon Tao.

And he realizes this that last time he sees Leon alive.

“Oh,” The accountant said with effort, closing the laptop placed against his lap in favor of focusing entirely on the detective’s presence. “Hey… Lionel.” His voice had the unique tune of pained memories and the happiness shared between them that made Fusco’s heart ache. _Why did they even fall apart_?

“Yeah,” Lionel says in a gruff whisper, shuffling closer into the room and eventually taking a seat next to Leon’s bed. The smaller man wasn’t in standard green robes, which was comforting. Instead he was in a sweatshirt with his favorite football team plastered across the front; and the white blanket covered most of his lower body. The clothes gave off a peaceful vibe, almost like Leon wasn’t slowly dying in the hospital.

Tension quickly turned into awkwardness by the second, and trying to make things seem less odd, Fusco attempted a conversation. “Did you watch the game last night?” He tried, motioning toward Leon’s jacket.

The accountant smiled and nodded, “Yeah, it was good.” And that was all he had to say, his smile dropping again just as quickly as it had appeared. So they sat there again, the silence ringing between them.

“Well, uh, how’s it going?” Fusco inquired stupidity, his mind screaming multiple reasons why this was an _awful_ question, but Leon played along.

“It’s going great; the staff here is really nice…” Was all he muttered, voice low and eyes on the blanket. Soon he bit his lip and let out a desperate sound, confusion mixed in with pain, “Why are you _even here_ , Lionel?”

His mind pulls up blanks, body starts shaking and Fusco asks himself, ‘ _Yeah, why am I even here_?’ And honestly, Lionel has no clue. Maybe he just wanted to say his final farewells? Ask for forgiveness? Admit that Leon was right?

“I… I just wanted to drop by and say ‘ _hello_ ,’ I guess.” Was all he uttered helplessly, glancing back toward the patient and for the first time actually taking in his appearance. Leon was paler, eyes hollowed with dark circles and that cheerful, mischievous glint had died down. Instead they were dull and inky, dreadfully boring and sad. He’d also lost a shit ton of weight, his clothes made up most of the picture, and his wrists were thin and shaky. The grey locks were also thinning, and hardly any black could be seen among the mess. Leon was dying, and it wasn’t a joke.

Suddenly there is laughing, soft and gentle puffs of air and it takes Lionel a second to realize it’s actually Leon. “You’re and idiot, you know that Lionel?” He muttered, peeking toward the cop out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment, Lionel forgot about all the bad in the world, because Leon looked like himself for a fraction of a second. His old, healthy self.

Fusco stands up after a while, finding no other reason to stay in this dreary environment any longer. Leon grabs at his wrist, making the larger man stop immediately only because the grip was so pathetically weak – it was sobering. “It was nice to see you,” Is all Leon can say, lips curved in a pained smile and somewhere, from the wall, a machine can be heard churning out another round of fluid into its patients arm.

Nodding, he replied, “Yeah, you too Leon,” and feels the accountants, limp, boney hand slide off his arm and back onto the bed. That was all he could say, all he could admit. Looking back one last time, he watches Leon scratch the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, and Fusco wishes he had the strength to stay and comfort Leon. But that’s not how life works. So he waves once, and leaves without a second glance.

A week later, Leon dies.

Reese explained it was Leon’s time, and also mentions how it was a hospital error – Fusco feels anger boil inside him, and then simmer to nothing. All the emotion meant nothing to him anymore. Finch arranges a funeral, simple and sweet, apparently how Leon would have wanted it. Surprisingly, because everyone thought he’d want a stripper pole wielded onto his coffin.

The day before Fusco goes and buys himself a new suit, a fancy black thing that would look good next to everyone else’s attire. Because he couldn’t bring himself to re-wear the one he attended to Beechers funeral. As nighttime falls, and Lionel lays there in bed, finding no ease of sleep, the memories start.

Simple, little ones at first. Like Leon kissing his neck in a morning greeting, or wearing his shirt from the night before with a pair of boxers underneath. The way Leon would tell the punch line of a joke, smooth and giggly because all his jokes were apparently too much to handle with a couple of shots of whiskey.

Then the larger ones. Times of passion between the sheets, the way Leon would grip at his shoulders in warning. The mornings after were lazy, they’d lay in bed messily until twelve sometimes, content to breath in each other’s scents and feel their touches.

Then the fights. The escalating arguments over stupid things, like where Leon should park, and when he could visit. Even over what they should eat in the morning. Fusco re-lived the moment they fell apart completely, with Leon standing on the doorstep with a cardboard box of his things. A toothbrush he’d bought at a gas station, extra clothes, a phone charger and a pack of cigarettes. Leon’s last, hopeful smile and weary goodbye. Eyes begging for Lionel _to do something._ To save them.

It was well past one in the morning by the time Fusco fell asleep, and at eight, when the phone rang and Finch’s calls were ignored, Lionel got around to admitting the truth. Even if he was just talking to the pillow Leon used to sleep with, it was comforting. Apologizing. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” He started off with, feeling dead weight slide off his back. Soon he was sobbing into the pillow, deep, heartfelt sobs – because he really was sorry. Fusco’s anguish went unnoticed, his apologies passed onto deaf ears.

He never did attend the funeral, and in a sense, Leon got used to being alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh, I still love this ship!!  
> And Angst... I love the angst. (This to me was sad)


End file.
